


The Fairlane Affair

by grace_lou_freebush



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Co-workers, Cunnilingus, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-24 06:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17699420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace_lou_freebush/pseuds/grace_lou_freebush
Summary: It's Valentine's Day, and Hermione is stuck at work for the Misuse of Magic Department when she gets a memo to report to Muggle London with Obliviator Draco Malfoy.  While driving down a dark alley "short-cut," their 1950s Ford Fairlane car breaks down.  Written for the Strictly Dramione's Valentine's Day Smut Fest 2019!





	The Fairlane Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Strictly Dramione Facebook group for hosting this Fest and getting me to finally post my first fanfiction! Also, thank you to CourtingInsanity for all of your beta help; you're fantastic!  
> I obviously don't own Harry Potter (or Hermione Granger OR Draco Malfoy *sobs*), and I'm not making any money off of this work, either (*double sobs*). Please leave a kudos if you liked it and a comment if you liked it or not as that's my only form of gratification and gauge of quality! Thanks for reading; I hope you enjoy!  
> Prompt #2 - Have your car break down at strategic places.

 

“Hey, Hermione!”  Ginny called from the other room.  

A drip of pastel pink paint dropped from the roller onto the handle and Hermione’s knuckle.  Enough baby pink had speckled her tanned skin that she appeared to be finger painting Harry and Ginny’s nursery.  The charm she’d originally tried didn’t do as nicely a job as she could do painting the Muggle way; plus, some things were just more heartfelt when one applied some physical effort.

“Check this out!”  The pregnant witch had distracted Hermione more than once – more like twelve times – while attending to her task of sifting through all the clutter they’d moved out of the room recently dubbed the nursery; they’d levitated all the junk and furniture out using their wands for that bit of work.  Placing the roller back in its tray with more patience than she really felt, Hermione trudged down the hall to the guest room.

Ginny was sitting before a tall, precarious stack of magazines; trinkets, trifles, and trash were scattered in piles surrounding her.  At a closer look, the tower appeared to be _Witch Weekly_ magazines circa 1950.  She lounged cross-legged on the floor with one of the faded periodicals open on her lap.

Seeing Hermione enter the room, she flashed her the cover.  The date in the corner indicated that it was from the first week of February 1958, and Ginny was tapping on the title of an article splayed across the bottom in bold print “129 WAYS TO GET A HUSBAND” with a little blurb beneath it reading “Just in time for Valentine’s Day!”

Ginny’s expression was too serious as she thrust the magazine, open to the correct page, into Hermione’s hands.

     1.  _Get a dog and walk it._

Well, that wasn’t awful advice.  If a witch preferred dogs, in any case.

     2.  _Have your car break down at strategic places._

Hermione paused.  Was this really a witch’s magazine?  How many witches owned cars in 1958? But then again that upsurge in Muggle transportation had occurred in the late 1950s, if Hermione remembered correctly.  In addition, she often had to take a ministry vehicle out into Muggle London to effectively do her job, and surely that hadn’t changed much in 50 years.

Hermione worked in the Misuse of Magic department, predominantly taking calls to fix spells gone wrong (or malevolently cast) in the Muggle world.  Frequently, her services required her to report to areas she’d never been or where it was impractical to Apparate. The cars available to sign out were typically older models that seemed so run down that “magic” had to be the only explanation for how they still ran.  Pondering it now, if she had to guess, Hermione figured she would find most of them to be built in the ‘50s.

Curiosity appeased, she returned to the article - if a list of suggestions on how to find a husband could be considered an article.  Skimming down the tips, she paused at number six ( _read the obituaries to find eligible widowers_ ).  She snorted a graceless laugh to which Ginny dropped her solemn expression to demand Hermione tell her which number she was reading.

From there, the two friends spent the next hour pouring over the advice, giggling madly at most of the suggestions, creating bizarre stories to rationalize others, and overall just wondering if _any_ of these tips had ever landed a witch with a husband.

When Harry found the hysterical witches later that night, they had almost made their way through the whole stack of magazines, reading the pages out loud by Hermione’s wand-light, and completely disregarding their original task of setting up the nursery for the little girl who was due in just over five months.

<3

One week later, Hermione found herself drawing the short wand to work the evening shift on Valentine’s Day.  Her coworkers had guilted her into taking the prime dinner and (more importantly) after-dinner hours since she was currently single, and they all had hot dates, apparently.  Marjorie, a frail 60-something-year-old widow, applied a layer of rose-red lipstick, smacked her creased lips, and blew a kiss to a disgruntled Hermione as she left the office.

Hermione knew she had jinxed the unusually quiet night on the job when she made note of it and settled into her desk chair with a steamy romance novel – it was Valentine’s Day, after all, and she deserved to treat herself at least a _little_ since she was stuck at work and had no real life suitors to whisk her away for a night of romance and sexual deviancy.

Only about an hour later, around seven o’clock, a memo from the MLE antagonized her while she tried to finish her page.  She snatched it out of her curls and unfolded the airplane with a grumble. The poor chaps who were working tonight over in the Auror department had apprehended a jilted wizard who seemed to think that if his lover was going to dump him for another man on Valentine’s Day, no one deserved a nice date.  He had magically stuck the doors shut on about a dozen cozy restaurants in downtown Muggle London before the Aurors captured him. Her orders were to sign out a car, bring the Obliviator on duty with her, and drive to the listed address to fix the doors and make sure no Muggles remembered the event.

Stifling a groan, Hermione marked her place in her book (she had _just_ gotten into the juicy part, and her knickers were slightly damper than was comfortable), grabbed her cloak (a heavy, warm garment that teased the sensitive skin around her collarbones), and stomped out to the garage (mostly an attempt to alleviate some frustration).  She knew she should have worn a skirt tonight despite the frigid temperature.

She almost choked on her own spit and turned around when she noticed who was leaning up against the passenger side of a green and white classic sedan.  The parchment stated that it was a 1956 Ford Fairlane, she vaguely registered, distracted as she was by the picture before her. The hood and top half of the doors were snow white while the roof, protruding single headlamps, and bottom portion of the car were mint green.  The paint was pretty and shiny with an elegant V detail in silver swooping along both sides of the automobile, dividing the colors neatly. But the car had nothing on the man she’d be stuck with tonight – Draco Malfoy.

The two had worked together often during the past several years, getting over petty rivalries and more serious regrets early on in their work history.  He was very well put-together, as always: neatly parted hair, clean shaven, perfectly tailored robes, haughty expression. A surge of lust crashed through her lower abdomen as she realized that her escape into the naughty fantasy of her novel had her body aroused and needy.

Before she could spin around and sprint away and forget all about her job and her sinfully attractive coworker, Draco turned to acknowledge her.

“What?  No secret admirer to whisk you away from work on this night of romance?”  He smirked; Hermione ignored the fact that she’d had almost the exact same contemplation merely an hour ago.

“What?  All your usual trysts shack up with other men tonight?” she retorted with the same good-natured tone.

“Touché.”  He grinned with a sharp glint to his steel-silver eyes.  To cover up her shiver, Hermione clutched her cloak tighter around the neck.

“Shall I drive?”  She changed the subject while her heart continued to race against the palm that she now had pressed flat against her chest.

“As always.”  He fished the keys out of the glove compartment and passed them to her once they were both seated.

Hermione pulled the car out of the parking spot and shifted gears expertly as they exited the parking garage.  Draco took up his usual job of navigator, and they fell into a comfortable, if a bit charged, routine.

Due to missing a chance for a romantic date, Draco seemed to have turned up his charm.  Hermione shifted in her seat, pressing her thighs together in the hopes of relieving some pressure unnoticeably.  She was soaked and throbbing at her apex, and she was hyper-aware of the seams of her trousers as they shifted with her movements.

Somehow Hermione managed to get them safely to their destination.  Draco had made a few comments when she drove too slowly or then overcorrected and drove like a mad woman.  She was literally driven to distraction by the man lounging on the bench seat a few scant feet to her left.  Everything about him was setting her on edge. He was both cavalier and snarky, things that made Hermione hot on a good day, when she was prepared and in control of her faculties, let alone when she was horny as fuck _before_ being surprised and cajoled by his charisma.  She stalled the car twice, only barely passing that off as the car being faulty in its old age rather than user error.

The spellwork required once they’d arrived should have been only slightly complicated, but her concentration was made infinitely more difficult when she split her attention between untangling the layers of the hex and getting teased by her partner for the night.  A bright blush had made itself residence of her cheeks for the evening as she tried to tame the heartbeat that was pounding through her whole body at the feel of his eyes trailing her as she worked. She only ever felt self-conscious around _him_.

Still, she figured out the counter-spells and enacted them without too much trouble.  Draco performed the routine Obliviations, and they traipsed to the next restaurant on the block.  Their banter was light-hearted and floated down the street as they discussed past work fiascoes, drama with friends, and their days between seeing each other in general.  Hermione recalled the _Witch Weekly_ article and some of the more obnoxious suggestions (really, “stand in a corner and cry softly,” _Witch Weekly_?) to which Draco _hmm_ ed and nodded along, affirming the advice with a sage expression.  The witch swatted him on the shoulder and burst into squealing giggles, missing his satisfied smirk while she buried her warming cheeks into her scarf.  

She thought to herself how satisfying it was when they worked together.  They were in sync with each other in a physical and intellectual way that she didn’t experience with anyone else, and this realization was comforting as well as terrifying - and not for the first time.

Their work took them several hours, though they felt no inclination to rush, and by the time they finished, the night was deep, and the roads were empty on the way back to the Ministry.  On one lonely back road, really a dark alley that Hermione claimed was a “short-cut,” the Fairlane broke down.

Hermione huffed a breath and asked Draco if he would check the engine.

What once, years ago, might have been an ugly sneer concerning a Muggle contraption was now a sexy smirk in the dark.  A lone light by one of the buildings’ side doors glinted off the smooth upturn of his lips and the quicksilver of his eyes as he speared her with his smug glance.

Hermione pursed her lips – mostly to hold in a breathless, needy moan.

“Fine, I’ll go check on it.  I swear, one day you need to learn about Muggle cars.”

“I’ll learn anything you want to teach me.”  His voice was so close to silent that she fooled herself into believing she’d imagined it.  Hermione _knew_ there was no way she hadn’t fabricated the double entendre, in any case.  She ignored the statement altogether as she couldn’t formulate an intelligent response and stepped out into the chill air.  She was flush again, and the crispness helped ground her before she jumped her coworker and taught him how to give her multiple orgasms in the passenger seat of an old automobile.

Despite the brisk air, she imagined six different positions they could try in the confines of the cab while she cast some diagnostic spells and waved her wand in a complicated motion.

She found Draco with his nose in a book when she opened the door and plopped back in her seat.  Her knickers were altogether too wet for her comfort.

Before she could utter a word, she caught and recognized the distinctive shapes of the back and spine of the book.  She froze.

“I didn’t know you had such taste in novels, Granger,” he intoned.  In her shock and mortification, she couldn’t glean what his inflection could possibly mean.  “Well?” Draco drawled, drawing out the word with a falsely unaffected lilt. Hermione knew him too well for that to fool her, though.

“ _Well_ , I wasn’t going to be getting any on my own tonight.  A girl’s gotta take care of herself.” She sniffed, turning her nose up and away, elongating her neck with what she hoped was an enticing curve.

“Shall we get going?” she snipped, moving to turn the key when her coworker didn’t respond.  She could feel his eyes still on her by the prickly feeling that rose up her neck. She was glad it was too dark for him to make out the blush that surely accompanied it.

The engine spluttered but didn’t turn over.  Hermione released a whiny groan that was perhaps more desirous than she’d anticipated.

A soft thud had her turning in Draco’s direction.  He’d dropped her book onto the floorboard. She began an exclamation at his mistreatment of her paperback, but his lips and hands were on her before she could manage a word.

She took barely a moment to fling herself into the kiss, lips pressed tightly together, hands grasping blindly for the short ends of his carefully arranged hair.  She exhaled a satisfied breath into his mouth.

He tried to pull away, but Hermione followed his face back onto his side of the car.  Her hip banged painfully into the thin steering wheel as she didn’t fit in the space as well sideways as facing forward with her legs below the dash.

Draco mumbled a suffocated “Are you okay?” at the painful _thunk_.  She murmured a wordless noise of affirmation against his lips and clambered into his lap.  She’d probably bruise later, but she was not wasting this chance now that he’d initiated it.  The electricity coursing through her veins stifled the sting, anyway.

Draco’s hands locked firmly on her waist, pulling her into his chest.  Her hips settled over his; the wetness of her knickers seeped through her trousers and pressed against his growing hardness.  She rocked experimentally, eliciting moans from them both.

Trailing her fingers down from his silky hair to his expensive robes, she skimmed her hands down his chest to the top button.  She popped it through the hole and undid the next. Slipping her hands beneath the heavy fabric, she caressed up his hard chest to his broad shoulders where she pushed out and slid the sleeves down his arms.  He released her waist to shrug them off. His fingers found her own fastenings, and he quickly returned the favor.

They separated to look into each other’s eyes.  Finding no regret, only passion and desire, they reconnected as one with vigor.  He tasted like cinnamon. She smelled of vanilla. Together they felt fire and magic and life.

Draco pressed her down into him, and she moaned with need.  She repeated the motion and again without prompting while he seared his kisses along her jaw to the hollow beneath her ear.

He assaulted her with hot, open mouthed kisses and sucked on the sensitive skin there.  Hermione could only grip his shoulders and go along for the ride as her brain short-circuited with the stimulation.

Hermione thanked Godric Gryffindor that she was wearing a blouse that buttoned up the front – there wouldn’t be room to stretch up to remove a jumper in the low-roofed cab – when Draco paused his ministrations to remove the garment.  She used the time of clear thought to strip him of his tie, flinging it to the side, and release a few buttons of his dress shirt before he attached himself to her collarbone.

As he kissed, licked, sucked, and nibbled his way down her cleavage, she arched into him.  He traced the edge of her red lace balconette bra with his tongue, from cleavage to strap and back on both sides, igniting flames everywhere his hot, wet tongue touched her.  The warmth spread through her chest at a distracting rate. He repeated the circuit a few times until Hermione groaned with frustration, digging her nails into his shoulders as she forced her chest into his face.

His response was to sit back and smirk at the fervor clouding her eyes, pupils blown wide in her dark pools.  Holding her gaze, he popped the clasp with practiced ease and lowered his mouth onto her aching buds, first one, then the other.  He sucked each nipple until it was pebbled and erect, then released it with a _pop_ to see to its sister.

Hermione shut her eyes and let her head fall back with a sound of ecstasy.  She ground her hips sharply against his erection, searching for more friction.

“You’re so beautiful,” Draco murmured against Hermione’s breasts.

“Please,” she whimpered.

“Please, what?”  He trailed a finger down her exposed stomach, shooting sparks along the trail he blazed, until he reached the waistband of her slacks.  He traced the zipper flap down to the juncture where the seams all met at her core. He pressed steadily, eyes locked onto her face as she squirmed and mewled.

“What is it, Hermione?  Tell me what you want.” He held the pressure and secured her in place with his other arm.

When she tried to buck against him, he anchored her rigidly, their bare skin brushing against each other tantalizingly.  Her core pulsed with the rhythm of her heartbeat, the craving building to a frantic hunger that had her thinking only _more, more, more_.

“Tell me,” Draco growled in her ear, her flyaway hair tickling her cheeks and shoulders as his face shifted it against her skin.  His steamy pants puffed against her cheek.

“Please, Draco, you.  I need you!” Her plea erupted from her, the only coherent thought she could string together, and only then out of necessity as the pleasure became an unbearable torture with no release.

A guttural groan rumbled through Draco’s chest.  It vibrated against her as well as the sound permeated the air.  In less than a blink, Draco tossed her to the side, her right arm flinging out to grab the steering wheel to keep herself from toppling off the narrow bench.  Draco descended on her pants while she righted herself, practically ripping them off her legs as he struggled with the confined space. He unceremoniously discarded them along with her knickers, which had come off with her slacks, into the backseat.

He paused for a moment to take in her figure sprawled across the green, vinyl seats.  One leg hooked over the back of the chair while the other foot pressed into the floor, her ankle strap heels still clinging to her feet.  Her chest heaved with her laborious breaths, and her hair was flung in a halo of curls around her head.

Then he pushed a finger straight into her swollen, aching center.

She cried out and arched her back straight off the seat.

He flicked his finger up and towards himself once, twice, three times, and Hermione’s world fell apart around her, she was so primed.  As her walls fluttered around the one finger, Draco plunged it in and out, slithering a second finger in with the first as he pumped her through her orgasm.

As she was coming down from her high, Draco removed his slick fingers and circled the nub of her clit.  Her juices created a slippery nirvana of sensation that slowly burned itself back to life like the embers of a campfire stoked into a bonfire.

Her hips jumped up to meet the firm pads of his fingers, throwing off his tempo.  Using his free hand, he restrained her.

Right as she worked herself up into another lust filled frenzy, he removed his digits from her body.  Despite her whines of complaint, he focused on kicking off his pants and briefs. When the fabric was gone, his erection bobbed free and weeping.

Hermione was on her knees and bent over his head in seconds, taking in her first look at his hard member.  If only there was more lighting so that she could make out more details than the rather impressive size and outline of his, admittedly mouthwatering, shape!

Grasping his firmness in her hand, she pumped his satiny skin with a loose fist, grazing her thumb over his leaking slit before descending her mouth over his shaft.

At this angle, with him sitting facing forward and her kneeling from the side, she couldn’t fit his whole, thick cock in her mouth.  She stroked the inches left while she dipped her head a few times, desire building between her legs and dripping onto the vinyl.

Taking one last, long pull on his hardness, she hollowed her cheeks and sucked in continuously while _slowly_ lifting off until his head popped free and sprang back to attention.  Draco audibly groaned.

Swinging a leg over his hips, Hermione lined herself up.  She paused. Glowing silver eyes met the intensity of swirling chocolate.  They remained locked on each other as she surged down, down, down until she bottomed out.

Her lids fluttered closed of their own volition, and she was incapable of pausing for even a moment to enjoy the fullness before she rocked back and drove forward.  Gripping the back of the seat on either side of Draco’s head, she used the leverage to pound herself onto his silky, steel rod. His seated position allowed her clit to brush against his abdomen with each thrust.

Quiet noises of, “Ung, ung, ung, ung, ung,” escaped her throat unbidden.

Draco grabbed her hip with his right hand and fondled her full, heavy breast with his left.  He aided her tempo as her pace spiraled faster and faster with her growing lust. She rolled her hips twice without sliding up his dick, and he corrected the movement with a direct nudge.  A heady moan simmered for several heartbeats while her muscles twitched for the release that was just out of reach.

Draco used both hands at her hips to quickly and violently impale her on him several times in short succession, grunting with the effort.  Hermione let her head fall forward onto Draco’s shoulder as she focused solely on the build, build, build, _build_ until finally, the tension came loose all at once like the tumbling of blocks on an uneven surface.

Before her muscles finished clenching around him, he removed her from his body.

Using her bonelessness to his advantage, Draco directed her to her hands and knees.

Both legs didn’t fit on the seat of the bench, so she braced her shaky left leg on the ground.  Draco gathered her mane of hair in his hand and tugged her head back to look at him. Forcing a bruising kiss onto her already swollen lips, he ran his left hand along her curves to her hip.  He squeezed her sharply, enticing an exhale that could have been borne of pain or pleasure. He wrangled his tongue into the opening, and his fingers wandered down to her clit again.

“Mmmm, so wet, love,” he praised her, his lips still brushing against hers.  “So wet for me.”

Sweeping up some of her cum from her slit, he drew tight circles on her clit until she was humping wantonly against his body.  With each rock back, her weeping cunt bumped his rock-hard and unforgiving member, and with each twitch forward, she grazed his frantically rubbing fingers.  All the while, he imitated the onslaught with his tongue into her open mouth, swallowing every cry of pleasure she produced for him.

Just as she was sure she could take no more, just as her arms began to shake with exhaustion, just as her womb began to coil, Draco slammed himself into her opening.

Immediately she came with a strangled shout.  Her left arm shot up and forward to catch herself against the unexpected jolt.  Vaguely, she acknowledged the feeling of the cool, wet fog on the window against her palm.  Her hand slipped down the glass as she became aware of her surroundings again.

Using her forearm, she braced herself against the door as Draco continued to rut against her ass, his fingers swiping swiftly against her overstimulated bud.  She was freefalling back to reality, though, and that included the beginnings of a cramp in her extended left leg. She reached back and tapped Draco on the hip twice.

“Sorry,” she breathed, gasping for air, “cramp.  Ow ow ow.” The calf muscle twinged, making itself more noticeable as she focused on it.

“Sorry, love,” Draco apologized as he finally pulled himself away from her wet, tight heat at her behest.

Hermione twisted into the seat, flexing her foot a couple times to work out the tight muscle.  Draco pulled her leg into his lap, ignoring the erection standing at full mast, and massaged the tender calf.

“I hadn’t noticed before… These vinyl seats really are uncomfortable,” Hermione giggled, unsticking one damp ass cheek from the bench with a painful _schhhhick_.

Draco released a breathless chuckle.

He then reached behind him to pull out a crumpled pile of robes.  Arranging them behind Hermione, he lay her down. Her right leg fell comfortably open while Draco held on to her left calf.  Starting at the ankle, he kissed his way lightly up the limb until he reached the juncture between her legs.

The slight cramp and preceding orgasm had left her sated and a little ticklish.  Her extremities were heavy with contentment, but Draco didn’t let that deter him.

He licked her fully from the bottom of her slit to the tip of her clit with the flat of his tongue.  Hermione shivered deliciously and let her legs fall open further.

Draco set about his task of eating Hermione out until she was begging him for another orgasm.  He alternated between using the tip of his tongue to lightly swirl figure eights over her clit and pressing solidly against her fully to mimic the feel of her thrusting against his body.  Sometimes he used a finger in her cunt, and sometimes he pinched her clit and slurped her up into his hot mouth. Any time she moaned, mewed, or cried out for more, he switched tactics, never letting her body catch up with his current ministrations.

Finally, she begged him to just fuck her into the seat and be done with it.

He wasted no time to acquiesce to his witch’s desires.

Grabbing himself by the base, he aimed himself at her core.  Giving her just an extra second of no contact to tease her with sensory deprivation, he waited, watching her face for the tell-tale moment of exasperation before snapping himself into her in one stroke.

They went from sticking to the vinyl seats with their sweaty skin to Hermione sliding back with each thrust on Draco’s robes.  She flung her arms above her head to catch herself against the door before she could bash her skull. The movement forced her breasts up at an appealing angle. Draco dipped his head and sucked one hard peak into his mouth. Nibbling on it gently, he twirled the nipple with the tip of his tongue.

Hermione’s womb throbbed, and she threw her head back, arching her spine into Draco’s strong body.  He held her to him and pulled her breast into his open mouth. The sensations, twinned with his even pounding, brought her slowly to another end.  Blissfully tipping over the edge, she breathed Draco’s name into the space between them.

Draco followed her into oblivion as her spasming muscles milked him to completion, pumping erratically as ropes of cum filled her waiting entrance.

All but collapsing on top of her, Draco allowed his brain to slowly reboot.  He found himself nuzzled into Hermione’s chest with her fingers lazily stroking through his now-tousled hair.  His softening dick was still nestled inside her. He sighed in contentment.

“This was not how our first time was supposed to be,” he mused, the first coherent thought to run through his brain, before his filter had kicked back into gear.

Hermione laughed, and he sighed in relief.

The cab reeked of sex, their clothes were wrinkled and flung throughout it, Draco’s perfect hair was askew, his pale complexion was flushed, and Hermione was pretty sure she had a love bite blooming at the corner of her jaw, but at that moment, they were both complacent and everything else could wait.  The lone lamp bathed the sedan with a radiant afterglow as the engine magically kicked itself back on with a soothing rumble, like the peaceful purr of a lion.

<3

Years later, on their wedding day, Hermione hummed to herself, _Maybe that_ Witch Weekly _article was on to something after all…_

But whether that 1956 Ford Fairlane just so happened to break down at that strategic place or not, Hermione would take to her grave, with a Malfoy smirk firmly affixed to her lips.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to kudos and comment! *Waggles eyebrows seductively*


End file.
